


touch me

by ghostbats



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gamzee pov, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Moirails, Pale Porn, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Second Person, nonsexual intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14302743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbats/pseuds/ghostbats
Summary: Karkat's pity is a thing you treasure to the utmost -- it's precious and fierce, just as he is. It's a special treat indeed when he don't feel the need to hide it behind his anger as he is so wont to, when you don't gotta peel back layer after layer to get at that fragile core of him you know he won't trust to a single other troll. Fuck, but you ache for him, you do, so much so that your fronds get at twitching in your lap like they got their belief on they could just be reaching through the screen to pull your beloved right on through.





	touch me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Price of Forgiveness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752749) by [BirchBow (chaoticTenebrism)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticTenebrism/pseuds/BirchBow). 



> remember that bit in PoF where gamzee had karkat touch himself?
> 
> yeah.

Your name is Gamzee Makara and you haven't seen your moirail in a long, long time.

Word that Karkat was finally on his way back to the fleet came only just hours ago, after nights and nights of silence goin' clear the fuck past when the schedule had his squadron set to be returning. You worried yourself sick over his absence, that space in your pusher you save just for your diamond feeling hollow and makin’ your head swim when you thought on it too long, but he’s _back_. He’s _here_. He’s _okay_.

You can't hardly breath as he fusses with his webcam, and the sight of him when the screen clears sends all your loneliness straight through your chest like a motherfucking dagger. He ain't hardly changed for all the time he's been gone, you note. He's maybe a little taller, a little older, but there's that same crease right between his brows, those tiny horns and tiny fangs, and that familiar tension all down his shoulders you know is gonna give him a wicked hurting up in his pan later on. His eyes burn fire-bright like always, but by the look of the shadows underneath them he's been sleeping even worse than you.

He's got his shirt off and his shoulder all bandaged up, the sterile white spotted with his miracle blood, and you're stuck wondering how deep the hurting went for it to still show near two hours after it was he was meant to be coming back. There's bruises all along his arms and torso and several long scratches across his face as weren't deep enough to need covering up but still leave you with a growl risin' up in your throat. The thought of any motherfucker getting their claws on him like that don't sit right with you at all, that's for motherfucking sure, but you doubt whoever it is as has done the hurting still lives.

"Gamzee," He starts. Your mood fuckin' spins right around at that and you are so delighted just hearing him you think for a second you might die of it. "Looks like you've actually been eating this time around. Good. I was half worried I was going to have to start calling you three times a night just to make sure you weren't accidentally starving yourself, you massive wriggler." You're sorely tempted to be asking him to do as such anyways, but the Empress has gone and made you full aware of how busy he is, so you bite your tongue and don't say a motherfucking word.

He growls a touch when you stay silent, this adorable little sound he got it up in his head somehow as being a noise what's actually frightening. Even if it were, sleep is clinging so tight to him right now that he couldn't scare off a fucking grub. Fuck, fuck, you want him here and solid and with you so bad you come near to choking on it and the desire eats at you, making you trip over your words like a pan-addled wriggler. "Missed you." you force, and it comes out sounding a touch like you're gonna cry but you don't mind a single motherfucking bit because there's nothing in it that's not truth. Those perigees without him may as well have been a thousand sweeps for all the longing you got built up.

The words make his face go soft and sweet and you are motherfucking transfixed. Karkat's pity is a thing you treasure to the utmost -- it's precious and fierce, just as he is. It's a special treat indeed when he don't feel the need to hide it behind his anger as he is so wont to, when you don't gotta peel back layer after layer to get at that fragile core of him you know he won't trust to a single other troll. Fuck, but you ache for him, you do, so much so that your fronds get at twitching in your lap like they got their belief on they could just be reaching through the screen to pull your beloved right on through.

When you finally get to meet up with him again you are gonna hug the _shit out of him._

"Missed you too, assclown. I-" He stops, and you see it's on account of how he just cut himself off with a yawn so huge you're sure you can hear his jawhinge creaking. You're both so tired you know you really (really, really) oughta prod at him to sleep and head off to your recuperacoon your own self, but messiahs only know when next you'll be seeing each other with all the work what's getting thrown at you both as of recent, and the thought of pining after him for even one more night is one you can't bear.

If he stays, well, you'll stay right alongside him as long as you can.

Onscreen, Karkat's shaking his head, scrubbing at his eyes like he could scare off his exhaustion if he's just rough enough. "Ugh." He says. "You would not believe how much I've had to do since I got back. Apparently no one else in the entire empire is competent to fill out a form on their own, so now I'm stuck with an ungodly amount of paperwork to finish in between trips to the infirmary to make sure I haven't been permanently disfigured. And don't even get me _STARTED_ on the new recruits' gross bastardization of standard protocol--" he rages, loading off all the frustrations what he's built up since the last time you saw each other with wild hand gestures and these tiny, angry flicks of his fins, and you just sit back all makin' sympathetic noises at all the right places and let him keep going until he's all talked out.

It's a while before he slows down, slumping back against his chair like all of his everything just got drained right the motherfuck out of him. It just fills you right up with pity, it does. "Hey now," You say, calm. "Ease up on them wrigglers, bro, you know you weren't no model threshie when you were first joining up with the fleet." Straight away he starts bristling; you hold up a hand and shoooooooooosh.

There's a bit of wait with you making sure he's not gonna try shouting over you (didn't seem like it, but he's all kinds of tired right now and you done been made well aware of how much worse it makes him sometimes), then you start right up again. "I figure all them papers and newbies ain't what's really got you all worked up, palest," Your voice is as low as you can make it, just enough of a purr threaded through your words to get him shivering. You try not to let your satisfaction show as you lean forward to look straight at the webcam with your very best 'pile me' face. "...Figure all of what you'd need right now is a pair of gentle hands on you, touching at you slow and sweet. You're real pent up, huh? bet like this I could get you begging in no time, set my fronds on your fins and show you things you ain’t ever even thought I could do. Brother. Karkat. I'd get you so blissed out you'd be forgetting your own name."

Unwilling and unintentional your moirail lets loose this needy chirp what’s got him snapping his head up and coloring that bright, beautiful red right up to the tips of his ears. He stops. You stop. Embarrassment hasn't ever really been a thing you got, for all you tried understanding it for his sake, but now that it's just you and him, there ain't a force out there could be keeping you from grinning wide and holding up your hands to make a pale gesture what's right motherfucking obscene. Onscreen, he swallows hard. "Fuck." He says. His voice shakes. There's a touch of urgency there now you are certain wasn't before -- his pupils are blown wide already, and you are blessed with the smallest flash of teeth as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Hell yes. You’re the pale Casanova, it's you.


End file.
